


Banter

by AlexLKerr



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-18 12:58:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1429462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexLKerr/pseuds/AlexLKerr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clips and pieces of dialogue between Sam & Dean while en route to/from cases in the Impala.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Um," Dean squinted out the windshield, thinking about it. Finally, he smiled and glanced at his brother. "I got it."

"'kay," Sam capped his pen and angled to face his brother. "Who?"

"Martha Stewart," Dean announced, knowing he'd won but Sam just laughed.

"Martha Stewart? Really?"

"What? She's crafty," Dean defended.

"Well I give you that she'd be a formidable witch-"

"Ew, no-"

"-But a hunter? Really?"

"Yeah," Dean shrugged. "She'd be resourceful."

"With  _glitter_."

"No c'mon she does more than glue glitter to shit," Dean said reasonably.

"Are you really defending Martha Stewart to me right now?"

Dean feigned quiet resentment. He could see Sam grinning in his peripheral vision.

"Actually... didn't she kill a guy?" Sam spoke up after a few beats.

"Oh yeah! Like... with a tractor or something."

They fell into contemplative silence.

"How do you not get out of the way of a tractor?" Sam asked, baffled. Dean gave Sam a wry smile.

"Maybe she had the guy in a Devil's Trap, Sammy," he said. It was a slow build to laughter but they both got there.

* * *

"It's not... God damn it, Sam, it's not psychology-" Dean used air quotes while still keeping his hands on the wheel.

"It's textbook, Dean. You are textbook psychology when it comes to that game," Sam yelled back insistently, trying hard not to crack up.

"There is no fucking textbook in psychology - or any other god damn academic field - on  _rock paper scissors_!" Dean shouted, "you piece of bullshit Stanford educated stupid motherfucking piece of shi-"

"Eyes on the road, Dean," Sam snickered.

"Shut up!"

Silence fell except for the sound of Sam's quiet laughter. Hackles raised, Dean gave Sam a double-take.

"Oh you think this is funny, huh?"

"I'm... no... I'm not..."

"Do you?"

"...no..." Sam practically giggled. "I just..."

"If we weren't in the middle of nowhere right now I swear to god I'd kick you out of this car."

"Well."

"Well?"

"Well I'm-"

"Sam," Dean warned.

"... just... glad we're in the middle of nowhere right now."

"Shut the fuck up."

* * *

"By how much do you think you're taller than me?"

Sam shrugged.

"I don't know. Like... five inches."

"No."

"No?"

"No - you wear heels."

"Dean, I don't wear heels," Sam replied seriously.

"You do - it puts like two inches on you."

"Lies. Stop lying," Sam dismissed, leaning over the seat back to grab a sweater and aspirin.

"Take off your shoe and look at it, man."

"No I'm not gonna do that," Sam grunted, reaching to find the small bottle that'd probably gotten stuffed in between the backseat cushions. He lifted a knee up against the seat to push himself further back into the car.

"Dude I am looking at your shoes right now," Dean gestured with his hand at the heel of Sam's shoe.

"I don't care," Sam called back.

Dean gave a double-take at the shoe.

"These your slip-on things?"

"What? Yeah," Sam replied, distracted. Dean grabbed the heel of Sam's shoe and pulled it off in one swift motion. "Dean! What the hell!"

"Look at your fucking shoe, dude," Dean said, waving it in front of him. Sam managed to find the aspirin and struggled backwards to sink back into his seat.

"Give me back my shoe."

"Not until you look at it and tell me I'm right."

"Is this what you do with your time when I'm not around? Just stare at my shoes?" Sam shot back, grabbing it out of Dean's hand and throwing it down into the seat well.

"Shit, you figured me out. Yes, Sam, I just stare at your shoes-"

"Well how the hell else do you know so much about my fucking shoes?!" Sam shot back, feigning annoyance.

"Don't pretend you don't know what my shoes look like."

"I literally do not know what your shoes look like," Sam claimed, lying.

They'd reached an impasse. Signs and pastures flew by as they zoomed to their next destination.

"That's too bad," Dean muttered, "I got some nice fuckin' shoes, Sammy," Dean landed the line.

Still smiling, Sam threw his sweater on.

"Leg still bothering you?" He asked, noticing Dean had had a slight limp before they'd gotten on the road that morning.

"'S manageable."

"Here," Sam said and Dean held out his hand. Sam dropped a couple aspirin into it.

"Thanks," Dean muttered, popping them into his mouth and opening his hand again to receive the water bottle Sam had ready for him.

* * *

"Dean. Hey Dean. Dean. Dean."

"What?" Dean finally replied, his voice dull.

"Dean."

"Sam."

"Y'errr... you have a funny hat."

"No I don't, Sam. I don't own any hats-"

"No you do."

Dean cinched his mouth to the side, thinking about it.

"What's it look like?"

"S'green."

"Like lime green?"

"No!" Sam replied vehemently. "Ssss... is like... ssswirly greens."

"Like sherbert ice cream?" Dean couldn't help a small smile.

"Yes!  _Yes_! Oh my god can we get some ice cream, Dean?"

"Yep." Dean ticked the signal to get off at the next exit. He'd seen a Baskin Robbins sign earlier and figured Sam could do with a treat. He felt bad for having pulled him out AMA before the drugs could wear off.

"Uhhh youuu are the best ever," Sam sing-songed and started lilting against the window. Dean pulled him back gently by his shoulder. "Huh?" Sam grunted as if he'd just woken up.

"Stay with me, man. Don't lean on that side - you got stitches."

Sam groggily looked down at his side and slowly pulled his t-shirt up.

"Where the fuck did these stitches come from?" Sam gasped and Dean fought hard to contain his laughter. "Dean!" Sam reprimanded like it was Dean's fault.

"What? I didn't do anything. 'Sides, I'm getting you ice cream, shut up."

"You shut up," Sam replied weakly, still studying the stitches. Dean looked to see what his brother was doing.

"Hey-hey-hey Sammy, come on," he said, pulling Sam's hand up so it'd let go of his t-shirt. Sam was limp; giving in to Dean's gestures. "Come on just ignore it for right now okay?" Dean asked lightly, keeping an arm around Sam's shoulders. Sam leaned in, resting his head against his big brother. Normally Dean would call boundaries but the kid was so out of it...

Dean squeezed Sam's shoulders reassuringly as he drove into the parking lot of the Baskin Robbins.

"Okay how do you feel?"

"'M tired."

"Okay ice cream, another hour we cross state lines, and then we get you into a bed, okay?"

Sam grunted.

"Sammy, y'okay?"

"Yeah D," Sam replied sleepily.

When Dean walked back to the car Sam was back on his side of the seat. He stepped in and handed Sam his ice cream but Sam just stared at him.

"Where's your, like, magicalificent hat?" Sam asked. Dean just laughed and started the car up. He had no idea what Sam was talking about.

* * *

"What do you think is the sexiest profession in the world?"

"I'm assuming sex workers is automatically out otherwise this wouldn't be a very challenging question," Sam deadpanned, looking through the files they'd collected on a case.

"For me, yeah. I'm expecting you're gonna come up with 'librarian' or some shit."

"Hey don't knock the librarian look," Sam replied, still distracted.

"Okay no but seriously."

"Oh seriously? You're asking me seriously what the sexiest profession in the world is?" Sam countered sarcastically.

"Yeah this is serious," Dean confirmed with conviction.

"Okay," Sam huffed, then looked up from the files out to the horizon to give his eyes a break. He sighed. "Uhh... for men or women?"

The car was comically silent for a second, then Dean gave Sam a double-take with his own patented  _what the fuck_  expression.

"Got something to tell me, Sammy?"

Sam rolled his eyes, unable to help a smile.

"Shut up."

"No I mean I'm honored-"

"Shut up," Sam laughed. "Um... I don't know. What do you think is the sexiest profession?"

"I've got one in mind but I don't want to sway you."

"I don't think what you find sexy is what I find sexy," Sam said honestly.

"Seriously are you positive you're not coming out to me right now?" Dean asked, making Sam crack back into laughter. He'd walked right into that.

* * *

"How did you  _not_  like training? All we did was play with guns and matches and shit-"

"-Oh that's healthy, yeah, a great banner for our childhood: we played with guns and matches 'n shit."

"You liked fireworks," Dean offered pointedly.

"That's... that's not the same thing," Sam hedged.

"How is it not the same thing? It was explosives. We were setting off bombs."

Sam thought about it.

"Yeah but they were pretty bombs," Sam finally said weakly, making Dean laugh.

* * *

Dean slammed the car door shut, his pale, sweaty face the picture of misery. Sam was hunched over the steering wheel, watching his brother solicitously.

"Y'all right?" He asked in an undertone.

"No," Dean groaned, curling in again.

"We'll take the next exit and get a room," Sam said quietly, shifting gears to get back onto the road. He'd pulled over in the emergency lane to let Dean throw up.

"Christ," Dean muttered, his stomach obviously killing him. He shifted over from his curled position to lie his head against the bench seat.

"You want to lie down in the back?" Sam asked.

"No. I don' wanna move," Dean grunted, clutching his stomach. Sam winced in sympathy and patted Dean's shoulder. He glanced at the seat back and realized there were a couple blankets in easy reach. He grabbed one and put it next to him halfway on and off his thigh.

"Here - stretch out if you want," Sam murmured. Dean ticked his head up for a second to see the makeshift pillow and without protest just scooted further along the seat until he reached where Sam had bunched the blanket up on his leg.

"Are you cold?" Sam asked gently but had already started feeling Dean's forehead and arms to gauge his body temperature.

"Uh... stop," Dean moaned but he didn't bat his brother away. Two seconds later he felt a blanket flop onto him. Sam used his free hand to unfold the thing and spread it across Dean's body as he drove.

"We'll find a place soon, D," Sam promised, letting his arm rest along Dean's side over the covers.

Okay," Dean replied lamely.

* * *

"You packed the weapons right?"

"Yeah."

"Why'd you put them in the backseat?"

"What?"

"I didn't see them in the trunk."

"...I didn't load them into the car."

The car screeched to a halt on the emergency lane. Dean swiveled around to Sam.

" _What_?"

"You fucking kidding me?"

"Are  _you_?!"

"Dude packing and loading are two different tasks."

"Sam, no. They're the same task. What the fuck did you do - just... just pack the weapons and leave them in the room?"

"Yeah I thought you were gonna load them later."

"Why?!"

"Because... I don't know... you were the last one to finish packing so I thought you'd load everything up when you were done..."

"Where the fuck did you leave it?"

"In... in..." Sam thought about it, his defense sinking, "in the closet where we normally keep it."

"And you thought I'd just see an empty room with all your shit packed up and loaded and assume that, for some reason, my idiot brother  _who_   _I saw_   _packing the weapons bag_  had just... left the bag in the closet when he was done?!"

Sam cringed.

" _How the fuck did you get into Stanford, Sam?!_ "

"Hey, no, c'mon, I didn't-"

"You better hope to God the cleaning staff hasn't found it yet-"

"Well."

"Well what?"

"Well I mean we're in this together. They know we both stayed there."

"Thanks, Sam. Real helpful."

"No c'mon we'll just say..."

"What? What could we possibly say to cover this?"

"I... That... We're... part of some kind of Renaissance... fair..." Sam trailed off half-heartedly.

The words "renaissance fair" hung over them as Dean floored it. Finally Dean spoke up.

"Yeah I don't think they're gonna buy that," he said lowly, seething.

Sam licked his lips and tried not to smile. Dean glanced at his brother.

"S'not funny."

"It's a little-"

"No."


	2. Chapter 2

"Where am I turning off dude? Here?"

"Uh... uh yeah... I think... yeah  _here_ -turn off  _here_ , Dean!" Sam yelled, pointing across Dean's face to a small, quaint, and barely visible road to their left. Annoyed, Dean slapped Sam's hand back to his side.

"I got it dude," he muttered, turning in smoothly. They passed several residential homes, the essence of suburbia replete with cobblestone streets. The rumble of the Impala's engine was no longer steady as every ancient brick that paved the street jolted the vintage beauty. Sam could hear the weapons in the back shuddering and clinking. He sincerely hoped Dean had secured everything before they'd headed out.

Dean turned the radio off, annoyed that the car's jolts and bumps from potholes and cracks were causing static and sound outages over the console's speakers.

Silence reigned as the two brothers bounced on the bench seat. Sam grabbed a bottle of water but thought better of it as his hand jerked with the terrain when he tried to unscrew the cap. This was getting old real fast.

It was dusk. Depth perception and visibility was low so when they hit a dip in the street without slowing down the Impala's undercarriage got tagged... loudly.

But not as loudly as Dean's sharp gasp as if he himself had just been dealt a heavy blow.

"Fucking cobblestone-" Sam started mumbling when Dean unleashed.

"Fucking  _hate_   _cobblestone_!" He yelled, gripping the steering wheel tighter and showing down. "God  _damn_  it!" He added for good measure and Sam started to laugh.

* * *

Dean angled to check whether the cashier was hot. She was, so as he shifted into park at the pump he gave a cursory glance around the car before querying Sam.

"Hey you got any gum on you?"

"What'd you forget to brush your teeth this morning?" Sam asked absently, not missing a beat as he squinted out the windshield.

"No," Dean replied bluntly, waiting on his brother to find gum. Sam started patting himself down to find the pack of gum, still trying to figure out what the sign said up ahead beyond the station. "I was in the bathroom," Dean continued innocently, " _somebody_  forgot to flush this morning."

Sam turned to look at his brother, grimacing in disgust while still looking for the gum in one of his pockets.

"Ew no I didn't-"

"You did. You'd'a gifted the cleaning ladies shit if I hadn't been there  _brushing my teeth_  after you."

Disturbed, Sam finally found the pack of mint flavored gum.

"I'm going to buy Juicy Fruit next time so you can go hit on gas station attendants smelling like bubble gum," Sam retaliated lamely, handing the pack to his brother. Dean grinned and popped one into his mouth before exiting the car.

Sam sighed and got out to stretch his legs. Dean stayed near the pump, waiting for it to finish before he went to go pay. After a quick walk around the station Sam came back to the car and slid into the driver's seat. It was mid-morning, the sunlight's glare seeped into his eyes and he let out a leisurely yawn before glancing around the car for his sunglasses.

A few minutes later Dean came around to the passenger seat and got in.

"Hey have you seen my sunglasses?" Sam asked, confused that he still couldn't find them.

"What?"

"My sunglasses."

"Oh here," Dean took off his sunglasses and handed them to Sam. Sam held them, a look of judgement crossing his face.

"These are  _your_  sunglasses," he said, ticking them at his brother, "Where're mine?"

Dean had settled into the passenger seat and closed his eyes. He cracked them open to slits and shrugged.

"I don't know. Just use mine. I'm gonna be sleeping anyway."

"No dude... My sunglasses are  _nice_."

"My sunglasses are nice," Dean shot back defensively. Sam made a face and looked at the lenses.

"They're scratched."

"Well excuse me, your highness-"

"Dude mine were Oakley's. Seriously-"

"-What the hell are Oakleys?"

"-did you do anything with them?"

"No. No I didn't do anything with your  _Oakleys_ ," Dean mocked his last word with exaggerated gravitas.

Sam and Dean had a staring stand-off before Sam ruled Dean's claims honest. Sam might have packed them by accident... more likely he'd accidentally left them behind in their motel room though.

"Shit," Sam whispered vehemently, jamming Dean's sunglasses onto his face and shifting the car into drive. They started pulling out and Dean sank back against the door and the seat.

"I thought Ray Bans were the nicest sunglasses," Dean mumbled clearly, his eyes closed.

"They're not," Sam replied glibly, his lips pursed in irritation, annoyed with himself. Dean's brows lifted as he shook his head comically, mouthing "okay," given Sam's touchy attitude. Sam gave his brother a double-take, then stared back out onto the road. Dean could see the edge of his brother's lip turn up slightly.

"You just think that because of the movie MIB," he quipped.

Sam expected a fast retaliation but when none came he relaxed a millisecond before Dean's foot slammed against his thigh.

"Ow," Sam laughed, trying to get Dean's foot off him.

* * *

"How sleepy are you?"

"I'm not sleepy I'm tired."

"What's the difference?"

"You make it sound like I'm four years old."

"Well you look four years old when you're tired."

"Really?" Sam shot back, grouchy.

"Yeah."

"Well that's impressive because you look like you're eighty when you're tired."

* * *

Sam used one hand to rub his eyes, forefinger and thumb lightly sliding against each socket. He'd gotten drunk with his brother last night but ended up walking back to their motel room alone. Dean had sauntered in around eight-thirty that morning sporting coffee, a Cheshire grin, and the unconscious leftover affect of winking.

If Sam hadn't seen his brother in years he'd still be able to know when Dean had gotten laid the night before by how often he winked the following day. Definitely one of those things Sam wished he didn't know.

He sighed, impatient in the passenger seat, waiting for Dean to get his peppy afterglowing shit together. The driver's door cranked open and slammed shut quickly and Dean settled himself into the seat.

"Okay," Dean dragged the word out cheerfully, rubbing his hands together with anticipation. "Where to?"

"Birmingham," muttered, hung over.

"Yeah but like what direction?"

"Uh..." Sam shifted and looked around. "Left - highway marker's a few blocks down."

Dean nodded, turned the engine over, and they were off.

"We're going east on the highway."

"I knew that."

"How was... uh... Natalie-?"

"Nadine," Dean corrected, relishing the name of his beautiful one-night stand.

"Uh huh. How many STDs you think you got this time?" Sam jabbed dully.

"What?" Dean glanced at his brother and Sam raised his eyebrows. "She wants to be a vet - she takes night classes at the community college."

Sam snorted skeptically, rolling his eyes.

"Oh what? Judgmental of community college, you drop-out?"

"I dropped out of  _Stanford_ -"

"What, that makes you so much better?"

"No," Sam answered instantly. That wasn't what he meant. "Just... I don't know. One-night stand from a dude she met at _Joe Husker's Bar & Grill_-"

"You think she's got issues?" Dean lured.

"Well yeah," Sam answered honestly.

"And you don't?"

Sam rolled his eyes again and shrugged.

"We all got issues, man. Lighten up."

Sam sighed and looked out the window, thinking the conversation was over.

"You hearing me?"

"What?"

"Lighten up."

"Yeah okay I get it."

"Yeah but I really mean it," Dean said, suddenly sounding a lot less argumentative and a lot more concerned. He looked at Sam pointedly and Sam made a face back at him before Dean had to turn back to watch the road. "You've been all nasty and shit for the past week now."

"No I haven't-" Sam started, acting like the accusation was preposterous even though he had to admit it... wasn't.

"Yeah, dude. I don't know what's going on with you but you've been acting like a dick... so... stop it," Dean replied, sounding genuine. It cut through Sam's defenses. Suddenly he felt all of fourteen years old again. His big brother telling him to be more respectful.

"I'm not a dick," Sam murmured sullenly but he had to give it to his brother that he had been feeling bitter lately. He wasn't entirely sure where it'd come from; he'd just started finding snarky judgement and sarcasm particularly enjoyable to dole out recently.

"I know. So don't act like one," Dean said openly, his tone fair and even.

Sam huffed, folding his arms over his chest, and sunk down into the car seat. He wasn't going to verbally agree to Dean's request but his willingness to acknowledge Dean's words without fighting back was all that was needed for Dean to know his little brother had gotten the message.

A few minutes later Sam sighed and looked at Dean. He almost stopped breathing when he caught reflective specks on his brother's skin.

"Oh my god," Sam said, his voice low and disbelieving.

"What?" Dean glanced at Sam's brother who had begun to laugh.

"Okay dude, no, I promise, I swear I'm not trying to be a douche..."

Dean looked at his brother, confused.

"Man... you've got glitter on your face," Sam said, delighted, leaning forward and brushing Dean's cheek and showing him the run-off on his upturned palm. Dean looked at it and made a clicking sound with his mouth as he went back to watching the road.

"I thought I got it all out in the shower this morning," Dean muttered ruefully. Sam laughed harder.

"She looked like a fairy princess what can I say?" Dean joked.

"That now you look like one too," Sam replied happily.

Reluctantly, Dean had to smile. He ticked his head to Sam, willing to giving him that one.

* * *

They were heading out in the morning after a quiet night recovering in the motel room. The hunt was over: they'd killed the Rakshasa, otherwise known as the blind knife-throwing old guy slash evil clown.

Things were fine now. The sun was shining, blue skies, and a highway ramp that'd take them out of there and onto greener pastures.

But not without breakfast. Dean kept an eye out.

"Hey you want McDonalds?" Dean asked as they were coming up on it. Sam turned sharply to look at his brother, his lips a thin puckered line of annoyance. Dean glanced at him and started laughing.

"No, I don't want McDonalds, Dean," Sam said, his voice strained. Dean flicked the turn signal and started slowing down.

"You sure?" He dragged the last word out, teasing, and lifted his eyebrows up and down suggestively.

"Dean!" Sam squeaked, his eyes no longer on his brother but rather on the magnificent plastic statue of Ronald McDonald in front. The car slowed to a crawl and Dean let his little brother get a good long look at it.  _I'm such an asshole_ , Dean thought, thoroughly entertained by the daunted expression on his brother's face. Sam swallowed nervously.

"No, man... C'mon, please?" Sam begged. Dean practically cackled as he hit the accelerator and the car drove on. Sam settled back into his seat and stared out the windshield. He took a few seconds to even out and then looked to his still-smiling brother.

"That was... not... nice, Dean" Sam reproached lamely.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5 more banter installments for your pleasure - happy readings!

"Awww man you got Twizzlers?" Dean lamented as Sam plopped himself into the passenger seat.

"What? Yeah, why?" he asked, distracted, pulling on the bag.

"I… hate it when you get Twizzlers," Dean muttered, starting the car up. Sam stared at him. "You suck on them and it's loud and gross…"

"Shut up, it's not that bad," Sam dismissed, nimbly pulling a single long red licorice strip from out of the bag. "They're a little stale…" he murmured to himself. Dean glanced at him and sighed.

"I don't even get why or how you created so many weird ass ways to eat food…"

"Actually, they say that kids with weird food habits didn't have that many friends growing up so they substitute food for friends and that's why they end up 'playing with their food.'"

Dean made a face.

"Did you just make that up to guilt me?"

"Didn't make it up, but yeah," Sam smirked.

"You're a little shit, you know that?" Dean shook his head ruefully, repressing his smile as Sam gave a low-key laugh of agreement. He popped one end of the licorice into his mouth and started sucking on it to soften it up. Five minutes later Sam began to use the edges of his teeth to gently whittle the grooves of the Twizzlers down. Sam's goal, Dean knew, was to get a smooth, skinny, and disgustingly wet strip of licorice before he could eat it all the way.

After a particularly loud smacking slurping noise from the passenger seat, Dean couldn't handle it.

"Sam, I swear to god you sound like a dog licking its balls right now."

Sam pulled the Twizzlers out of his mouth with a loud, wet pop.

"Ew."

"Yeah, _ew_ , because it _is_ 'ew.'"

"Stop it, you'll give me a complex. I'm getting self-conscious now."

"Good."

"Leave me alone - let me appreciate my Twizzlers. I don't fuck with you when you devour pie like an animal."

Dean quirked his head back with a confused expression.

"What's wrong with the way I eat pie?"

Sam shot him a look of disbelief.

"Are- you're kidding, right? Everything."

"Well…" Dean trailed off, "bet it's not as bad as you with Twizzlers."

"It is."

"Eat your stupid Twizzlers."

* * *

They'd gotten on the road about half past six in the morning after a woefully early night for both of them. Sam wasn't sure why Dean had checked out of the bar so early last night but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Unfortunately this gift horse's mouth was more like a scrunched, constipated expression and a couple conversation starters that failed to launch at the last minute - followed by long, upset sighs then more silence.

Sam flipped his case file shut and settled himself more comfortably in against the passenger seat to look at his brother.

"Dean, what is it?"

"Do you think I come off gay?" Dean immediately asked, eyes firmly on the road.

"Yes," Sam shot back, his tone comically certain. Dean gave Sam a double-take and threw him a low, restrained punch.

"Fuck you," he muttered as Sam laughed.

"Why? Did something happen last night?"

Sam started snickering; the question was meant in terms of how Dean struck out with the girl he'd been flirting with but after the question was out it came off a lot like Sam was suggesting something else. Sam watched his brother move from annoyance to finally breaking a reluctant smile, shaking his head as he kept his eyes on the road.

"You're a dick," Dean muttered.

"So you like dick?"

Dean snorted and punched Sam again, the two of them falling into their own fantastically immature sense of humor.

"I swear to god, Sam-"

"Seriously," Sam grinned, "what happened? The girl thought you were gay?"

"Yeah!" Dean said, eyes widening with outraged disbelief. "What does that… how does that even happen? I was like… seriously, dude, like… Neon sign I was up for it-"

"Neon signs, huh?"

Dean huffed an affirmative.

"Sounds fabulous," Sam added before falling back to cackles at his brother's expense.

"You are the fucking worst…" Dean grumbled, failing to hide his smile.

"No, but, in all truth, I don't know how she could've gotten that from you."

"Right?!" Dean came back into the fold, hanging onto Sam's words for some affirmation. "I'm like…"

"Even dudes think you're hitting on them sometimes so it's nuts a girl would thi-"

"Whoa whoa… what the fuck?" Dean turned to look at Sam, pissed, and Sam stared back at him innocently before shrugging.

"What? They do," Sam put his hands out, biting his lip to hide the smile trying to creep up.

"When?!"

Sam opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water before he could speak.

"Well, uh, all the bartenders, for starters."

"No they don't!"

"Yeah they do, Dean. When you're like… doin' that smooth shit with a girl? You don't _turn it off_ when you face the bartenders to order and if they're gay…" Sam trailed off with a flirty lilt.

Dean was shaking his head vigorously in denial, lips in a full pout.

"That's never happened."

"Uh, yeah it has."

"Uh, no it hasn't," Dean shot back in a dumb mimicry of Sam.

Sam started laughing.

"Okay," Sam dragged out, "if you say so."

A few beats of silence, and then "I would've noticed, Sam," Dean pitched bitterly.

"Or _I_ would've noticed because the bartenders ask me what's up with you."

Dean let out a silent gasp and Sam couldn't help but start guiltily laughing under his breath.

"Has that seriously happened?" Dean asked, his voice hushed.

"Like just… just once or twice," Sam choked out, surreptitiously wiping his eyes free of tears.

"Jesus Christ," Dean muttered like this was a revelation and Sam covered his mouth, biting his knuckles, watching his brother go through the stages of acceptance.

After a couple minutes of contemplation, Dean spoke up.

"Why… why hasn't that happened with you with me? Like… you're the one with long hair. You look like a girl!"

"I don't think that's how that works, Dean…" Sam under-toned, "and I don't look like a girl!" he added, then realized he'd pitched his voice into a whine. Great.

"First, yes you do _so_ look like a girl and second, please - oh wise one - tell me how it works then."

Sam scrunched up his face and shrugged.

"I don't know. I'm not a flirt?"

Dean's disgusted expression was priceless.

"I'm a _flirt_?"

"Well, no…" Sam hedged and Dean relaxed slightly, "you're more of a slut."

Sam watched, entertained as hell as Dean sputtered until he could get a coherent sentence out.

"You… you… you're the feelings… slut… you should be the gay one!"

"What the hell is a feelings slut?"

"You suck," Dean replied heavily.

"Look, Dean, if you don't want to be gay then don't be gay. Simple as that," Sam baited lightly, completely unable to stop teasing the shit out of his brother.

Dean gripped the steering wheel tighter.

"I'm not… dude. I don't want to be gay because I'm _not gay_. I would _want_ to be gay if I were gay, Sam!"

"What if you were bi?"

"What's bye?"

"Bisexual. Like you have the hots for both guys and girls."

There was a pause from Dean, his head ticking to the side in consideration, and Sam snorted.

"Well okay I'm not gonna lie," Dean glanced at Sam sleazily, "if I were bisexual I would _definitely_ _want_ to be bisexual."

Sam started openly laughing at that.

"What, like because double the odds every night you go out?"

Dean chuckled under his breath and pointed at Sam.

"Exactly."

"Slut."

"Feelings slut."

"That's not…" Sam stopped and reconsidered. "Okay," Sam relented as he rubbed his eye and opened the case file again.

* * *

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Sorry, man, but we gotta stop off at the next rest stop," Sam said evenly, shifting around a little in his seat.

"Wha-Can't I just pull over on the side?"

Sam pursed his lips, uncomfortable his answer was going to be more informative than he'd like.

"No, Dean."

Dean sighed and shrugged, silently accepting the admission. Sam noticed his brother take on that expression he always wore when he was remembering something.

"Sam, how many cups of coffee did you have this morning?"

"Dean, oh my god, leave it," Sam warned, covering his mouth to hide his embarrassed smile as Dean grinned.

Ten minutes later at the gas station, Dean wished his brother well with his coffee shits. Loudly. And busted out laughing watching his brother's mortified run to get out of sight and into a bathroom.

* * *

"Do it again, do it again!"

Sam laughed at his brother's excitement and took a second to collect himself dramatically before straightening up and leaning forward, rubbing his hands together.

The Impala was idling at an intersection in a sleepy junction town, the red light glaring down on them, challenging Sam.

"Okay okay okay," Sam rubbed his hands together and squinted. "Okay, ready?" Sam asked and Dean broke his sleep-deprived, punchy chuckling to answer.

"Yeah-yeah-go, Sammy," he slurred, his speech always lazier when he was tired.

Sam took a deep breath and let it out at the red light.

Behold, the light turned green, and the two of them whooped with victorious laughter as Dean accelerated through.

"I'll get it next time-"

"No-"

"I will-"

"No, you're sucking at it tonight. Try tomorrow - we agreed the luck runs start and end every twenty-four hours."

"What if the next twenty-four hours starts in the next ten minutes? What then? Check mate, bitch," Dean added, snapping his fingers then pointing at his flustered little brother.

"You can't do that! We agreed like… I was like… _eight_ when we agreed on midnight."

"Meaning I was…" Dean paused for a second and blinked and Sam huffed a laugh, fully understanding the hiccup in thought to do math. His brain was as fried as Dean's right then. "Twelve! - shut up, Sam - Twelve. A twelve year old can't predict stoplight luck rotations… things…"

"Okay try it - try this one coming up," Sam relented, smiling. The Impala came to a stop. Dean pretended to center himself by passing an open hand down his face with closed eyes. He let out a long, smooth breath, stared at the red light with a deep inhale, and blew out at it.

The light remained red.

"Boooo," Sam intoned dully and Dean laughed indulgently with his brother before shaking his head and leaning his weight over the steering wheel as they idled.

"Ugh, I need a bed," Dean breathed.

"Well we can stop here, can't we? There's gotta be a motel around," Sam offered, voice light and relaxed. The light turned green and as they passed by various storefronts and restaurants, Sam caught sight of a Red Roof Inn.

"Dean - motel," Sam pointed. Sam saw his brother squint in its direction.

"Okay yep," his brother yawned, "we're gonna do that."

"Cool," Sam replied as he pulled his phone out to randomly look at the place's Yelp reviews.

* * *

"No, we're not sleeping in the car tonight," Sam announced angrily. He kept his eyes on the road as he drove but that didn't stop his right hand from jabbing the air at every emphasized word. "It's _fifty-five_ degrees out, I am _six foot four_ , and _thirty-two_ years old. We do _not_ sleep in the Impala unless it's an emergency. New rule. I am making a _new rule_ , Dean."

"Your rules suck. And what does your height have to do with it? I'm tall too."

"That's cute," Sam shot back, smiling at his brother's disgruntled reaction to being called 'cute.' "My height matters because I have to stick my feet out the window."

"Sammy, you do know knees can bend, right?"

"I do that and it fucks with my spine," Sam muttered, slightly embarrassed but not enough to forfeit a decent night's sleep in a bed. He didn't wait for his brother's ribbing; already anticipating it and getting doubly annoyed before Dean could even utter a syllable. " _Look_ , we sleep in the car tonight? Either my feet turn into ice blocks or I'm a hunchback come morning… and I _will_ whine about it to you, Dean," Dean made a face, "Oh yeah. I will. All day. That's a promise."

Silence fell upon them, Sam inwardly vowing to himself Dean would have to wrestle him if he thought he was going to get him to pull over anywhere except a motel parking lot.

Dean sighed.

"Knowing you, you'd probably cry a little bit too."

Sam pressed his lips together, suppressing his smile, as he started nodding.

"I will fucking… sob… like a… broken woman…" Sam started laughing along with Dean, "yes, I will. No, absolutely."

"Well you know I can't stand the sight of a woman crying, so I guess motel it is."

"Thank you - I will _take_ that win," Sam snickered, "And you know what?" Sam pointed at Dean, "I'm gonna remember this - I'm gonna use this card again."

"What, threatening to cry like a broken woman?" Dean dead-panned. Sam laughed through his nose, his dimples deep as ever as his body subtly shook. "Pretty sure that card would work on anyone, Sammy. Nobody wants to see your ugly-ass cry-face."

Sam opened his mouth with amused indignation but all that came out was a pitched "ah." He glanced over at Dean and realized his brother was watching him with a sly glint to his eyes. Sam breathed out and huffed a laugh.

"Stop… fuckin' with me," Sam muttered and Dean started laughing again. "Nobody looks good when they cry," Sam grumbled to himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review/kudos if you can spare the time! ~ Alex


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